Chapter Seven
An Even Dirtier Trick

The next morning, it seemed like everyone in Howling was at the arena for the second in the best of three games. All the Timberwolves had to do to make it to the championship finals was win this game against the Sabres.

The game was a lot closer than the one the day before. Halfway through the third period, it was tied 4–4. Johnny was in a better mood. He had scored a goal and had two assists.

But he wasn’t happy about getting jabbed by Dale. Whenever the referee wasn’t looking, Dale poked him in the back, the ribs or the legs. Johnny kept telling himself to play so his coach and his parents would be proud. He didn’t jab Dale back.

When Johnny lined up opposite Dale for a face-off in the Sabres’ end, Johnny checked to make sure Dale did not put his stick blade behind Johnny’s skates again.

The referee dropped the puck. Tom lost the draw to the Sabres’ center. The puck went to Dale. Dale pushed the puck forward and began to stickhandle.

Johnny wanted to make Dale look bad. He skated as hard as he could to catch up to Dale. Johnny reached ahead with his stick. He tried to use it to lift Dale’s stick and steal the puck. But Dale made a move with the puck, and the blade of Johnny’s stick accidentally went straight up. It hit Dale in the chin!

Dale fell down instantly, and the puck slid toward Tom.

This wasn’t good. The referee put his hand up for a penalty. As soon as Tom touched the puck, the referee blew the whistle.

“Two minutes for high-sticking,” the referee said.

Johnny kneeled on the ice beside Dale. “I’m sorry. I was trying to get the puck. Really.”

Dale ignored Johnny. He got up and waved for the referee. Then Dale pointed at his mouth. Blood was coming out of Dale’s mouth. As soon as the referee saw the blood, he blew his whistle again.

“I didn’t hit him that hard,” Johnny told the referee. “It was an accident.”

“Doesn’t matter,” the referee said. “You drew blood. That makes it a double minor penalty. Four minutes.”

This was really bad. Johnny had to stay in the penalty box for four minutes, no matter how many goals the Sabres scored. The Timberwolves would be a man short, and it would not be easy to keep the game tied.

From the penalty box, Johnny watched as the Sabres scored three goals. The Timberwolves lost. Now they would have to play a tie-breaker in Howling later that afternoon.

When the players on both teams shook hands at the end of the game, Johnny apologized to Dale once more.

“I didn’t mean to hit you,” Johnny said.

“Don’t worry,” Dale said. “It didn’t hurt.”

“But you were bleeding,” Johnny answered.

“Sure,” Dale said. “That’s because I bit the inside of my cheek while I was lying on the ice. Pretty smart, huh? To win the game, all I had to do was show the referee some blood.”

Dale laughed at Johnny. “You’re such a loser.”